


Fit to Print

by auselysium



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry, Christmas fic, M/M, Pining Draco, Post-Deathly Hallows, Straight Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3431714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auselysium/pseuds/auselysium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story in which Draco falls madly in love (but with a straight, heartbroken boy), Harry is said straight, heartbroken boy (but you know, shit happens). A tale of friendship, love, Gryffindor determination and all the news that is fit to print. (And lots of drinking)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I will freely admit that I took a great deal of inspiration from several wonderful gay story lines out there: Maurice, Were the World Mine and primarily Clara Sheller (a fabulous French show which you MUST watch if you haven't!) The main premise of Draco falling in love with a straight boy, comes from a college friend of mine who when one day she was looking very down simply explained, "I've fallen in love with a straight girl." They were together for 5 years!

"In you go, Potter."

Draco kicks open the front door to his flat and the wreath hanging there bangs back against it. The jingle bells nestled amongst the evergreen jangle loudly and Draco winces at the noise as he half drags, half carries Harry over the threshold.

Harry, drunk as hell and smelling a bit like sick, stagers away from Draco and into the dark sitting room, pulling at his scarf and overcoat as he does. The two pieces of clothing wind up unceremoniously dumped on the floor as he cuts a meandering path towards the couch.

"Fuck!" Harry curses, as the muffled thump of shin against upholstery fills the room. It seems the couch has been found.

"Let me turn the light on, you dolt," Draco says, as he dumps his keys on the side board and quickly resets the wards. With another flick of his wrist, the fairy lights on his Christmas tree begin to glow. Harry squeezes his eyes shut at sudden brightness, his bloodshot eyes offended even by the tree's muted glow.

He flops onto the couch, throwing his head back and an arm across his face. His sprawled body looks messy in Draco's immaculate living room.

"Ughhhh," Harry groans pathetically. "I hate her."

"I know," Draco replies as he folds Potter's scarf and coat, laying them across the back of an arm chair.

"No, I mean, I really hate her."

It is a sentiment Draco has heard over and over all evening ever since Harry apparated, unannounced, into Draco's kitchen while he been testing a new recipe for Christmas goose. Harry had landed breathless and red eyed. He'd punched a small hole in one of Draco's cabinets and then collapsed onto the floor and sobbed. For a moment, Draco had been frozen, turkey baster in one hand, wand in the other. His own panic had quickly set in before he had been able ascertain through a serious of head shakes and nods that there was nothing wrong with the Weasley/Granger duo or Teddy, before Harry had croaked out "Ginny."

"Has something happened?" Draco had asked. Another nod. "Is she hurt? Ill?"

"Worse," Harry had answered and Draco, knowing without another word, had sighed and sat down next to him on the floor. It had been over a half an hour before the tears subsided. And as soon as they did, Draco did what any good friend would do when they find out their mate's fiance has just cheated on them and took Harry out to a bar get properly pissed.  
His mission had been a success.

 

Harry leans forward now, dropping his elbows on his knees and his head to his hands. "She was fucking him in our bed. In our flat. In the flat I bloody bought for us."

"Well, the Weaslette is a total slut. I could have told you this ages ago."

Even in his drunkenness, Harry looks up and glares at him. "That?" He wags his head. "Not helping."

Draco shrugs and goes into his kitchen, grabbing some Hang Over potion and a tall glass of water.

"Look, Potter," He says as he comes back into the room and sits on the coffee table, directly opposite him. "It's better this happen now than after the wedding. At least you don't have to go through the drama of a divorce, just the cancellation of the Wedding of the Century."

"It's your bloody paper that called it that in the first place."

Draco shrugs again and hands him both the vial and the glass, which Harry takes readily if not a little clumsily. He watches Harry drink both down. The Hang Over potion will help in the morning, but does little to sober him up at the moment.

"Fucking Finch-Fletchly. Bastard, ass, wanker." Harry growls, spitting out any insult that comes to mind. He bends over, reaching for his shoes. His fingers fumble with the laces and Draco bats his hands away, kneeling down on the floor to do it for him. "Seeing them all naked and...freckly, writhing on the bed. No amount of firewhisky will burn that image from my memory."

"Not for your lack of trying, of course." Draco slides one shoe off and tucks the laces back in as he lines it up under the table. Harry peeks down at Draco before flinging his head back against the couch again, his arms splayed out to the side.

"His prick looked like a shriveled up gherkin."

Draco can't help but laugh. "You noticed that did you?"

Harry smiles lazily, his eyes still closed. "Smallest I've ever seen."

"And you've seen so many."

"Not as many as you."

"Cheeky," Draco quips, though he is suddenly aware of how close Harry's own prick is and how compromising his position is, here between Harry's knees. He can't help but sneak a glance upwards and notice the way the dark denim of his jeans bulge at his groin. Being quite partial to that male body part, Draco is certain there is nothing shriveled or gherkin-like lurking there. Draco blushes and jumps up quickly to retrieve a blanket from the back of one the arm chairs. Harry is a beautiful man, but that was a line he promised himself he'd never cross when they'd become friends in the wake of the war.

"Well…She can have him. Him and his tiny cock. I hope she has bad sex for the rest of her life. Small consolation but I'll take it." His voice becomes thick and Draco knows what is next. Harry's eyes well-up and he bites at his lower lip. "Because I love her. I really do." He looks at Draco, with those impossibly green eyes, begging Draco to feel his pain along with him. For a moment, he almost does. "I love her so bloody much."

"I know, Har." Draco touches his shoulder, encouraging Harry to lie down.

"She was supposed to be mine," Harry says as he lays down, curling his hands under his chin like a child. Draco drapes the blanket over him and can't help but tuck it under his feet. Draco sits back on the coffee table. "She was supposed to be mine forever. My happily ever after." Harry stares at him as another tear slips from his eye. "I'm damaged goods now, Draco."

"No you're well not." Draco leans forward and clasps his arm, brushing a lock of hair away from Harry's face with the other hand. His hair is long now, like it was during fourth year. Draco ignores that fact that he can remember that so easily. "You are a good, strong man who has dealt with far worse things in his life. You'll get through this." He twists another strand of hair around his pointer finger before reluctantly smoothing it back. "Besides, if all Voldemort left you with was a few, piddily scars no ginger bint will be the one to break you."

Harry's eyes soften and fall close. "Sounds like one of your editorials." He nestles his head against his pillow and Draco stands, smiling down at the vision of Harry curled up on his couch.

"Get some sleep."

Just as he's about to retreat to his own bedroom, tired from a long night of counseling, Harry grabs his hand.

"You're a good mate, Draco. Don't know what would I do without you."

"Shut up, you sentimental prat."

"I mean it." Harry's eyes are suddenly open and stunningly clear. Draco's heart jumps at their intensity.

"You're drunk." He says, making light of what otherwise would be so profound. Harry drops his hand.

"Yeah, but you love me." He's asleep almost before the sentence is finished.

Those final words linger in his ears as Draco switches off the tree lights. In the darkness, moonlight falls across Harry's placid face. Draco's breath catches in his throat.

"Well, fuck me."

*

When he gets back to his flat the following afternoon, he's not surprised, and only a little elated, to see Harry sitting at his kitchen table. He'd left for work with a dead-to-the-world Harry still asleep on his couch but now he's looking very much alive, nursing a cup of tea with the evening edition of Draco's Daily Prophet spread on the table.

It's his Prophet because it was delivered to his home, but also his Prophet because, as of six months ago, Draco is the youngest Editor-in-Chief the Daily Prophet has ever had. He'd started as a news room pee-on, delivering mail, making tea and the like, in the wake of the war. He'd felt lucky enough for that post. But before long he was given a Junior editor position and once his immaculate skill and fine prose was identified, he was given a weekly column in the Society and Leisure pages. He'd shone there and would have been happy to remain the writer who squeezed Rita Skeeter out of a job for remainder of his career, but when Barnabus Cruff retired, he hand picked Draco to fill his shoes. How could he have turned such an amazing opportunity down?

Under Draco, the Prophet has soared to new levels of journalism, free from ministry influence, finally giving the readers a balanced voice of truth. He still has two copies sent to his house everyday and while some might see that as hubris, Draco considers it just another checkpoint in his rigid quality control.

"You didn't print it," Harry states as way of greeting. Draco refills the kettle and sets a Quick Boil charm on it before pulling out the chair across the table from Harry.

"I didn't print it."

"I thought for sure…" Harry looks back at the paper as if he must have just missed the article, looking completely mystified. "Why?"

"Professional privilege? Perk of friendship?" he says then shrugs. "I figured you could use a few days to sort things out privately before it was all over the press. I can't promise I'll keep it out forever. The readers have a.."

"Right to know, yeah, I know." Harry is familiar with those words, as Draco has used them before to explain his sticky position to Harry when friendship and career have butted heads.

"But until then," Draco taps the side of his nose. "Mum's the word. And believe me, when I do print it, she will be scorned for the ages."

"Thanks, Draco, really," Harry says, fanning the corners of the paper idly with his fingers, the flush of relief warming his features. Draco stands to fix his tea.

"I fixed the hole in your wall," Harry says.

Draco glances over his shoulder to see his kitchen returned to its normal state. "Thanks. Did you go to work?" He asks as he carefully dips the tea sachet exactly four times before tying the thread around the handle to let it steep further.

"No," Harry snorts. "I called in sick. They don't need me. Even dark wizards seem to take the week before Christmas off. Besides, I didn't get up till half twelve and only then because Ginny's owl finally found me."

Draco sees the folded piece of parchment on the table near Harry's elbow. He sits back down, cupping the mug between both hands. He blows away the steam and takes a sip. "What did she say?"

Harry sighs. "That she wants to 'talk'." Harry mimics quotation marks with his hand. "Don't know what she'd want to say. There is no excuse."

"No there isn't. But there might be a why."

Harry's eyes crinkle with a small smile. "You're such a journalist."

"And you're a bloody Auror. Don't you want to find out her motive?" He asks.

"Not really. Why would I want to know what I did to push the woman I love into the arms of another man? Why would I want to know how I failed her?"

"Because maybe you didn't do anything at all," Draco says quickly, a bit surprised that Harry has already heaped so much blame on himself when this is clearly the Wealette's wrong doing. "Maybe this is completely her fault."

"Maybe," Harry says bleakly. He rubs his face with his hands, groaning into them before dropping his hands back into his lap dramatically. "I just don't want to go back there. You fall in love with someone, move in together. You start buying things together, imagine this amazing future that you'll have, become part of a family, build a life. And now?" Harry looks up again, his eyes glittering, "Now we have to break that life apart. It's awful."

Draco clasps Harry's wrist, holding it with steady strength. Harry covers his hand and just as he had the night before begins sweeping his thumb lazily across the back of Draco's hand. Those strong, rugged fingers that cast protective spells without a minute's hesitation and abscond bad guys daily are suddenly so gentle. He wonders if Harry even realizes he's doing it. If he realizes how quietly affectionate it is? How fast it makes Draco's heart pound?

"I meant what I said last night. About not knowing what I'd do without you. This isn't really something I can go to Ron about."

"You remember last night?"

Harry laughs softly. "Not all of it. But I do remember that bit. I really don't know how to thank you. For taking me out last night, letting me kip here."

"You're welcome to stay as long as you like." The words are said before Draco really has time to sort them out. It might mean a whole lot more moonlight on Harry's face or chance glances at impressive packages or moments like this when Harry's eyes light up like a boy on Christmas morning and make him look even more handsome than usual.

Draco stands too quickly, nearly knocking over his chair.

"Are you alright?" Harry asks, genuinely worried.

"I just remembered I have to go back to work. There's a story one of the writers has been working on for a long time that is coming in today. About…asbestos…in owl pellets." He feels himself blush. "Really hard hitting stuff, you know?"

Harry's brow furrows. "Right."

Draco is already hurrying form the kitchen as he says, "I'll be back late. Might even be all night. So…don't wait up." He rolls his eyes, groaning inside.

"Ok. Thanks again!" Harry shouts, but Draco is already out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course by "work" Draco had meant "bar". And by a "story on owl pellets" he had meant "several strong drinks with Pansy".

She is already sitting at a table near one of the front windows when he walks in, removing his gloves one finger at a time and surveying the place. It's a muggle bar but that is typical for her. The Leaky Cauldron is the only real magical establishment in London and Pany considers herself far too posh to be seen with its rowdy clientele.

Pansy, who hasn't had a drop of alcohol in years but smokes like a chimney, has her hand curled around a mug of coffee and a lit cigarette in the other. There are already three shots of Ketel One vodka waiting for Draco. She knows his vices as well as she knows him and he loves her for it.

He sits and does the three shots in rapid succession, barely giving himself a moment to bite back the burn.

"So to what emergency do I owe the pleasure of your company? I have to say I was a bit surprised to get your owl so late and on a work night, too," She teases taking a long drag from her cigarette.

Draco braces himself against the edge of the table, letting the liquor spread through his system. "I've fallen in love with a straight boy."

"Not again." Pansy's voice is tinged with a smile yet with enough sympathy that he doesn't completely regret confiding in her. She settles back in her chair, flicking the smoked-down ash into the ash tray. "You do realize that, as a gay man, you need to fall in love with another gay man, yes? Or at least a bisexual one?"

A steely look quells her sarcasm. "This is different, Pans. This isn't some, pathetic, school boy, come and go in an instant, hard-on just being in the same room kind of crush," Draco bites his lip. "Well, maybe that last bit."

Pansy lifts one dark brow. "What is it then?"

"More like…never felt so strongly, feels like my soul is matched, imagining our china patterns and joint retirement plans kind of love."

"Well then." She sits forward, putting out her cigarette. "Do I know him?"

Draco groans running his palms down over his face then nods.

"Care to share?" She prods.

Draco shakes his head.

"Come on," she teases. "It can't be that bad."

"It is." Draco slumps over the table, pressing his forehead against the smooth wood. "It's Potter."

She laughs sharply then covers her mouth with purple-manicured nails, but giggles sneak out behind them anyway.

"I know, I know," Draco groans, rolling his head back and forth on the table. The coolness of the veneer helps to sooth his blush.

"Draco, darling, our Lord Chosen One is as straight as his wand. And incredibly taken."

"Not anymore," Draco says quickly snapping his head up. The room spins for a minute as the vodka does its work. "He found her in bed with Finch-Fletchly just last night. The wedding is off."

"I didn't read about it in the Prophet today."

"It's because I didn't put it in the Prophet today."

Pansy's eyes widen, as if the reality of situation is finally hitting her. "This is serious then." She leans across the table. "Do you really think you love him? I mean, I know you've been friends ever since the Hogwarts rebuilding project took off, but to love him? It seems rather sudden."

"It's hit me like a steam train, Pans." Draco says. "Last night he was there and he needed me and I just…" Draco drops his hands with an exasperated shrug.

She smiles softly. "You've always had a bit of a soft spot for him."

"Yeah, soft as dragon's tooth."

"No, really. It's always been about Harry in one way or another." She squints at him through the dim light. "I almost wonder if that is why you hated him so much growing up. Because he made you feel something that you couldn't put a name to."

Draco looks down at his empty shot glasses and really wishes they would fill up again on their own. Why the hell hadn't they met at a magical bar? And why did she have to be so right? He picks up one of the shot glasses anyway, squeezing it tightly in his fist.

"What will you do?" She asks gently.

"I've no idea," Draco states. "If I tell him, I'm sure he'll never want to talk to me again but if I don't tell him I don't know if I'll ever be able to be near him again without imagining being with him. His body all pale and slender, tight with those Auror muscles…"

"You can stop right there."

Pansy snaps him out of his quickly materializing fantasy. His pants already feel a bit tight in the crotch and he adjusts himself as discretely as he can though Pansy doesn't miss much and gives him a disbelieving look.

"Regardless, things will never be the same." Draco looks down at the glass in his hand, slipping into a resigned silence.

"Look, I have a proposition," Pansy says after a spell, she reaches into her purse, bringing out a small golden envelope. He recognizes it as an invitation to the 10th Annual Hogwarts Alumni Ball - an institution started after the school was reopened after the war. He'd gotten one too.

"I assume you're going." She says, twirling the glittering paper back and forth between two fingers. Draco nods. As Chief Editor he didn't have much choice. "Well, since you can't go with the straight boy you want and there aren't any straight boys that are remotely good enough for me, why don't we go together? I won't let you get past first base, but at least you'll have someone to kiss at midnight."

"Pitty," Draco murmurs. "You used to let me get much further than that." A blush floods her cheeks and for a moment Draco is sad. It was not so long ago that they were a couple, but it feels like a different lifetime. Then in all seriousness a friend as timeless and loyal as Pansy deserves, he answers, "I'd be honored."

*

The next few days pass in a skillfully performed pas de deux on Draco's part, dancing around Harry and avoiding him as much as possible. He puts in plenty of late nights and early mornings at work, spends his evenings finishing up his shopping and sleeps like the bewitched in the hours in between.

He would have hardly known Harry was staying at his flat at all and therefore could ignore that pesky, niggling need to snog him. Of course, that would have been much easier if it hadn't been for Harry's toothbrush next to the bathroom sink, the bristles all smooshed and caked with paste. Or the set of Auror robes flung over one of Draco's chairs or left in a pile on the floor near the door. Draco does not press his nose to the grey fabric and fill his nostrils with the spicy smell of Harry's cologne when he hangs them up in the closet. Never. Not even once.

Before he knows it, a week has passed and it is Christmas Eve. In a fit of seasonal good will, his staff force him to take the remainder of the day off. "We're not going to ruin the paper in one afternoon," they say as they merrily push him out the front door. Draco has his doubts.

Being the middle of the day, he assumes his careful string of Harry-lite days will go unbroken. So when he opens his front door to see Harry bent over a travel case, tweed trousers pulled tight over his perfectly round derriere, Draco cannot help the completely unmanly yelp that jumps from his lips.

"Don't you ever work?" He asks, flustered.

Harry stands, turning to look at him. He has a half folded jumper in his hand. "I've been known to put in a few hours here and there." He smiles weakly. "I took a personal day today though. I went to see Ginny."

"When did you do that?" Draco asks. "What did she say? And why didn't you tell me? I would have gone with you."

"You weren't exactly here to tell."

"There are owls, Harry."

"I'm suppose to send an owl to the person I'm staying with?" Harry snaps, wadding up the sweater and throwing it in his bag. "What a waste of owl food." He turns his back on Draco, rustling through his things.

Draco feels like a complete ass. Harry had needed was a friend this week and Draco hadn't been there for him.

"Look, I'm sorry I haven't been around."

"I know," Harry says, accepting Draco's apology-of-a-sort. "It doesn't really matter," he says as he picks up a pair of inside out socks and stuff them in the side pouch. "I needed to go alone."

Draco takes off his coat and folds it over his arm. "Well. How was it?"

Harry drops to the couch and Draco, following suit, slowly sinks to an arm chair. "Awful."

Draco can tell Harry is doing everything he can not to cry. Draco can almost feel the bite of tears at the back of his own throat.

"She told me they've been sleeping together for four months, off and on. She said the pressure of being 'the future Mrs. Harry Potter' was more than she could bear so when she saw Fintch-Fletchly at one of her Quidditch training seminars they ended up in bed together." He looks down at his hands. "She's not in love with him, or so she says. Part of me thinks that makes it even worse. It would be one thing if she'd ruined everything because she'd found the love of her life but just for some random fuck? I don't know...It hurts."

Draco is silent, unable to come up with any words because inside he is fuming. He hates that unfaithful bitch more than he's ever hated anyone in his life. And that is saying a lot, considering. But Harry mistakes his silence for something else.

"Look, I should get going." He stands and does up the zipper on his suit case. He reaches in the front pocket of his trousers and takes out a key to Draco's flat which he places on the side table. "Thanks again for letting me stay. You've been so busy and I'm sure I'm the last person you want hanging around on Christmas Eve."

Harry shrugs on his coat, a puffy muggle thing that Draco cannot stand. Whenever he had pointed this out in the past, Harry would simply tell him to fuck off with a big grin and that it was warm.

"Where will you go?"

"Home. Ginny is with her family through the holidays so it's safe to go back."

"You still planning on going to the Weasley's tomorrow?"

He zips the coat all the way up to his neck and tucks his chin into the collar for a moment, blowing out a puff of air before speaking. "I spoke with Hermione and Ron last night and Ron insisted that I come. Said I was still family as far as he was concerned, but I don't think that would be a good idea. For anyone."

"So you'll be alone? At Christmas?"

Harry reaches behind him to pick up his bag. The look on his face is just so sad. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Draco stands quickly. "It's settled then. Harry, I'd like to officially invite you to Christmas at the Malfoy Manor tomorrow. As my guest."

Harry blinks at him. "Draco," the corner of his mouth lifts. "You can't be serious."

"No, no, I'm quite serious."

"Your father hates me."

"And my mother loves you. She'll insist upon it once she hears that you'd be alone otherwise and so do I."

Harry looks at him for a moment, weighing his options.

"You're sure?"

"Very."

The half smile turns into a full one and Draco's heart does a double-thump. "Alright, I think I'd like that." But then his face pales again. "There's just one problem though," Harry says, quite seriously.

"Which is?"

"What in bloody fuck am I supposed to get your father?"

*

The house elf bows so low its pachyderm-like nose brushes against the Oriental rug, all while the crystal snifter of Brandy remains perfectly balanced on the silver tray above his head.

"Would Mr. Harry Potter like another glass, Mr. Harry Potter, sir?"

Harry glances down at the small creature from where he stands by the fireplace. He shakes his head no, a gracious smile on his lips. Draco can't help but think he looks rather regal standing there, his long neck pale against the deep red of his shirt collar, his dark hair falling in careless tendrils. Draco slams back the rest of his drink.

"That will be all, Ferry." Drops his glass on the tray. "Leave us."

The elf bows towards Draco and then vanishes.

Harry's eyes have been lost in quiet contemplation all day, leaving him the impression of being present in the moment but only just. The day had been lovely. His mother had decorated the house with all the beautiful touches he remembered from his youth. Both his father and Harry had been on their best behavior, kissing each other's proverbial asses with niceties and decorum that, no matter how fake, had been believable enough that diner had been comfortable, enjoyable even.

However, now that dinner has ended and he and Harry have retired to the blue salon alone, the good face he'd put on all day has seemed to wilt. His mouth is narrow, set in a tense line. His brow is dropped. The pain he feels is still so new he still wears it outwardly all the while feeling it to the core. Draco can't fathom how deep his ache must go.

It makes him want to gather Harry fully into his arms, kiss the lids of his eyes and make him forget all about her. And yet he knows he has no right to that sort of comfort.

 

Harry's eyes shift and he catches Draco staring. Instead of looking away demurely, he holds his gaze and speaks. "I bought her a diamond and moonstone necklace for Christmas. I saw it, way back in October and all I could think about how it would catch her eyes when she wore it. It cost me…" He shakes his head. "A lot. What am I supposed to do with that now?"

"Keep it," Draco suggests, moving around the settee to sit on the ottoman. "Sell it. Destroy it."

Harry snickers through his nose. "Yeah, I do have some experience destroying jewelry, don't I?"

"More than most wizards I know."

Harry presses his lips into a small smile. But then his eyes return to the fire, becoming lost once again. Draco rises.

"Hopefully you won't feel the need to destroy this." He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small, neatly wrapped box.

"You got me jewelry?" Harry asks, flatly.

"No, you four-eyed idiot," Draco snickers, "Take it." As soon as Harry does, the glittery Santa with his eight reindeer take flight across the paper, flying around the top edge of the box as the corners begin to gradually spread outward, enlarging the box until it is so large Harry must cradle it in both forearms.

He gives Draco a curious look and a smile as he kneels, placing the package on the floor and begins to tear at the paper.

Inside the box rests a beautiful set of deep blue robes made of the supplest cashmere-wool blend with luxe, velvet lapels to match. Harry fingers the fine fabric, shaking his head. He looks up at Draco.

"It's too much."

"It's nothing." Draco says, casually dismissing the statement with his hand. "Your Auror robes are too workaday to wear anywhere nice and that plumped up monstrosity you've been wearing the past two winters needs replacing."

"I like that coat. It's really warm." Draco smiles at the expected response. "I should let you wear it sometime just so you can see." .

"I will do no such thing."

Harry stands and shakes the cloak out to it's full length. He holds the garment up to his body, smiling warmly. Draco knows it will be a perfect fit.

"I just wanted you to know," Draco crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly feeling unsure as he goes on. "That even though you may have been unlucky in love lately, there are still plenty of people in the world who love you." An ache pulses through him as he says it and if there had been any doubt that his feelings were true, there is none now. Harry drops the cloak and engulfs Draco in a long hug.

And there with Harry's defined arms wrapped securely around him, with the smell of Harry's cologne making him delirious, with the warmth of Harry's skin bleeding through his shirt and into his own, the words come splattering out.

"I love you, Harry."

Harry pulls back, one hand still resting on Draco's shoulder. His face goes blank for a moment before he smiles and squeezes Draco's shoulder. "Love you too, mate."

Draco knows he should just count his losses. Be thankful that Harry hasn't run from the room crying fowl. But there is something so ridiculously chummy about the way Harry throws those words back at him. Harry's tone is so painfully platonic, that Draco must make himself clear. He takes Harry's hand from his shoulder and places it carefully in his own. Harry watches then cautiously meets his eye.

"I love you." He sees Harry's eyes go wide. "I'm in love with you."

Harry takes a step back, slipping both his hands into his trouser pockets. He watches Draco for a long moment, as if giving Draco the time to say, "Just kidding". But this is no joke.

Harry clears his throat, begins to speak, freezes and then restarts. "I...don't really know what to say…"

"You don't need to say anything." Draco's thankful for the poise his father instilled in him from a young age. It allows him, even in this moment, to keep his voice calm, his chin high and his hands steady. "I know anything between us is…impossible. But that doesn't make what I feel for you any less real."

Harry chews at his lower lip and nods. "Was this why…last week…"

"I avoided you like the plague?" Draco finishes. "Yes. I thought I might be able to push my feelings away, but…" He sweeps his hands in front of him. "Well, here we are."

"How long have you felt this way?"

"Does it matter?"

"No. No I suppose not," Harry says.

"Long enough," Draco answers anyway. "But not long. Not years, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not worried about…" He stutters, a pained expression cutting him short. He rubs at his scar, a subconscious reflex Draco has see him do in times of severe stress. Harry drops his hand with a huff. "I just…I like women, Draco."

"Oh, I know. You don't need to remind me of that."

Harry takes a hasty step forward, coming to stand close to Draco. His eyes are impassioned and locked on Draco's. Their intensity makes his breath catch. "I care about you, so much. More than I certainly thought I ever would."

"Don't," Draco cuts him off, moving to stand with his back to Harry. He presses his palms against the credenza, watching as the magical snow falls on the porcelain nativity scene laid out there. "It's so very like you to be nothing but gallant at this moment. You've already behaved far better than I could have expected, but anything you say is only going to be further proof of why I love you and make it hurt all the more that I can't have you."

"Then why tell me at all? Why tell me when you know I can't give you what you want?"

"I needed for you to know. Even if that means losing you."

"And it's worth risk then, is it?" Harry's nostrils flare, his eyes burning with insult. "To throw away everything we've done to overcome our past. To become such good friends."

Draco turns to him, a defensive snarl on his lips. A memory of the way things used to be, way back at Hogwarts flashes through his mind. A reckless thought that maybe in the end it would have been easier if the animosity between them had never changed.

"I'm a newspaper man, Harry." He says, darkly. "You know I can't keep quiet about a good story for long."

Harry's jaw goes slack in silent disbelief. "Damn you, Draco," He says and is through the floo before Draco even has a chance to move towards him.

The woosh of the fire knocks Draco back. He drops to a nearby arm chair, staring blankly at Harry's abandoned gift still nested in its wrappings on the floor. He sighs, wishing Ferry would come back with more brandy.

Bah-bloody-humbug.


	3. Chapter 3

When Draco finally sleeps that night, he dreams. And when he dreams, he dreams he is sitting on a beach chair, a colorful cocktail in his hand and the crystal blue surf of the Cote d'Azur stretching out before him. It is a good dream, oddly enough, until the gentle ebb and flow of the waves begins to sound less like the gentle surf and more like someone pounding on his front door. He looks at his companion, confused, and the desperately handsome Gilles Rousseau - Seeker for the French national Quidditch team and well known playboy - lazily turns his blond head towards Draco and lowers his shades. "I sink someone is trying to speak with you, mon cheri."

Draco sits bolt upright in his bed, the pounding at the door suddenly twice as loud. The early morning light of Boxing Day casts his room in hazy grays.

He pushes back the sheets and grabs a thin dressing gown from the hook on the bathroom door. The satin is cool on his bed-warm skin as he makes his way to the front door. He can't think who would be banging down his door at this hour. Maybe Pansy had gotten into another classic Parkinson row with her parents over Christmas dinner or there is some crisis at the Prophet that needs immediate attention. Of course in his heart of hearts, Draco hopes for some Christmas miracle that the person on the other side of the door might just be…

"Harry," he breathes as he opens the front door to see the object of his wildest wishes standing on the other side. Draco had left shortly after Harry had vanished, not even bothering to tell his parents. It had taken several Sleeping Drafts but finally he had slept. Harry however has that wild look of one who hasn't caught a wink all night. He still has on the red button-down shirt he'd had on at dinner, the collar now crumpled. His hair is out of place and dull. His eyes are glazed.

"Where did you go?" Draco asks.

"Home," Harry says tightly.

"And... what are you doing here now? Exactly?" He asks, his sleepy brain still trying to sort the situation.

"I need you to kiss me."

This statement does not help to clarify matters in the least.

"What?" Draco finally manages.

"I need for you to kiss me," Harry says again, deliberately.

Still completely flummoxed, but aware enough that this conversation does not need to be happening in the hallway outside he flat, Draco grabs hold of the front of Harry's shirt - had the fool even bothered to put on a coat before coming over here? - and drags him inside, slamming the door firmly shut behind him. The damn bells of the wreath ring for several long seconds.

"What the hell are you on about?"

Harry stands with his fists clasped determinedly at his sides. "You love me."

It isn't a question. "You know I do."

"Well, I love you too. In my own way." Harry begins to pace, looking like some caged animal. "I've been up all night thinking about this and I've been just sick, Draco. I kept thinking that I can't be what you want me to be but then I don't want to hurt you. I know what a broken heart feels like and I won't do that to you."

"You can't just will yourself to have feelings for someone," Draco says. "Especially when that someone is a man and you are not bent." Draco pulls his robe tighter around his chest and starts towards the kitchen to put on the kettle. "Don't insult me, Harry. I'm not some pre-pubescent girl. I'll get over you," he mumbles that last bit to himself even though he knows he probably won't get over Harry. At least not without years of therapy.

Harry follows him, still hell-bent on his agenda. "You said you needed to tell me how you feel even if it meant losing me, and I kept thinking over and over again tonight that I don't want to lose you. And I just kept thinking that all that must mean something, right? I mean, a normal straight guy finds out his best friend fancies him and he freaks out a bit but he doesn't stay up all night wondering if maybe…" His words trail off, his eyes fall softly on Draco's face, his lips more precisely.

Draco can feel his heart pounding his chest. "If what?"

"If kissing a man." Subconsciously, Harry wets his lips catching them between his teeth. Then a sheepish smiles forms. "I mean, it can't be that bad right? You do it all the time."

"I'm also gay." When Harry doesn't blanche at all at that statement Draco says, cautiously, "You don't mean to say…"

"I don't find the idea of kissing you completely abhorrent."

"Oh, well," Draco, spins back around, throwing a tea bag into his mug with a dramatic flair. "Thanks ever so much."

"Well, that's got to count for something right? I'm trying here, Draco." Draco turns back to see Harry looking so completely earnest and steps off the drama train before it completely leaves the station. His shoulders relax as Harry steps close to him, close enough that Draco can look nowhere else but into Harry's eyes.

"I care about you." Draco can hear Harry's breath, shallow and fast. He wonders if his heart is beating as fast as his own. "Kiss me," Harry says on one of those breaths. "Show me."

Draco hesitates. What would it mean, to kiss Harry Potter? What possibility would lie within it? It is perhaps the most meaningful kiss Draco may ever share with a man, so what would this kiss need to be? It would need to encompass all his love. All his want. A kiss to end any and all questions Harry may have and pull out those secret desires that have lain hidden within him his entire life but only need to see the light of day to blossom. This kiss would change his life. Forever.

No pressure then.

He lifts one hand and cards his fingers through the long hair at Harry's temple, trailing his thumb softly against the skin of his jaw. Draco presses the pad of his thumb to the soft swell of Harry's lower lip, forcing his beautiful mouth open. A breath escapes and Harry shivers but does not pull away. He does not even flinch. A perfect pink flush rises in his cheeks and Draco feels his own arousal swell.

"I feel like I'm about to have my first kiss again," Harry whispers.

Draco wets his lips and smiles softly. "In a way, love, you are."

Harry matches his smile and it is with his lips so perfectly shaped that Draco catches them with his.

He kisses him so gently at first, no tongue, no sweeping motion. Just a long lingering press, a tasting of tender flesh. He is so careful, that with Harry's eyes closed he might even think it is a women he is kissing and not a man. He does not need to frighten Harry away with the power two men can share, the pure animalistic rigor.

Draco savors this first touch as if it will be the only one he will have from Harry and when their mouths softly break apart with a soft sound, he steps even closer, angles Harry's head even higher and kisses him even deeper the second time around.

He can hear Harry's breath gain speed as Draco opens his mouth against his. Harry follows suit without a moments hesitation and soon their tongues meet, fluttering against each other as if by accident, sending flares of electricity through Draco's blood. First kiss with a man or no, Harry is brilliant. He kisses without apology and with an intensity that Draco should not have been so surprised by and yet it thrills him like he could have never anticipated.

As they stand there, Draco in his dressing gown and Harry in yesterday's clothes, he feels the impossible. His heart pounds near to bursting as he kisses his improbable love. His throat aches with tears that wish to fill his eyes. A life-long process of school boy pettiness and arch defiance that blurred into mutual respect and eventual trust, all comes to a head in this long awaited epiphany.

At least for him.

As Draco's blood races and his cock swells, there is no way to know if this is having any affect on Harry at all.

He pulls back, opening his eyes. Harry's eyes remain closed, his lids fluttering, his chest rising and falling heavily.

"So?" Draco pants. Finally Harry opens his eyes. He grins.

"You need to shave."

"So do you."

"I'm not used to that."

"No, I'd imagine not."

Harry bites at his lower lip, all wet and red. It's all Draco can do not to bite those lips himself. He runs his hands over Harry's shoulders and clasps his biceps. Good Merlin, if they aren't two perfectly pert muscles.

"How did it feel?" Draco asks.

"Different. But not bad." Harry blushes. "Not bad at all actually. You're a good kisser."

"Takes two to tango."

Harry stares at him for a long moment, then shakes his head slowly. "This is so damned weird."

The gap of space between them is filled with two small laughs, releasing the tension a bit. "We can stop," Draco says, letting go of his arms.

Harry snorts and grabs Draco around the waist. "Not bloody likely," he grumbles, just before he seals Draco's mouth with another kiss.

*

Draco is dreaming again. Dreaming of winter white light filling his bedroom, his naked legs tangled with a lovers under light sheets. Fingers, hesitant yet tender, run through his hair and stir him from his dream within a dream. He rolls over to see Harry watching him, his green eyes open, soft and unafraid. Draco can't think of a time he has ever seen Harry so at peace.

Draco's heart swells, as only it can in one's imagination, so full of love and tenderness. He kisses this dream-world Harry, pressing him back against the sheets. Harry's strong arms surround him, his hands pressing against the skin of Draco's back. And when Draco slips on top of him, Harry opens his thighs willingly, hooking his ankles around Draco's calves and pulling him even closer.

Hard, hot flesh connects and Harry groans his name. "Draco." Harry twists against the sheets with unbearable need and it is only then, as the moan that forms in Harry's throat travels all the way through his body down to his groin does Draco remember that this is no dream.

They had both become braver in the bedroom. Harry had snuck his hands beneath the slippery fabric of Draco's robe, pulling at the knot and easing the fabric off Draco's shoulders. He'd paused for a moment, fascinated as he splayed his hands across Draco's flat chest, brushing across hardened nipples. Draco had undone each button of Harry's shirt with deliberate slowness, exploring Harry's jaw and neck as he did.

They'd gotten on the bed, the top button of Harry's trousers undone and Draco's thin flannel pajamas doing little to hide how riled up this extended make-out session had made him. For the first time that evening, a nervous tension had snuck under Harry's skin.

"You alright?" Draco had asked. He'd felt cautious every step of the way not to push Harry too far and feeling another man's erection pressed against his thigh could have been the thing to send him over the edge. Harry, however, had nodded rigidly, his grip deathly hard on Draco's biceps.

Watching carefully for any further signs of panic, Draco had slid on top of him. When Harry did not protest, he had been unable to stop the roll of hips forward. What he’d found, to his amazement and utter thrill, was a matching hardness beneath Harry's pants. Harry, who until then had done little more than gasp, sigh and pant his way through the encounter, had rewarded Draco with a mind-numbing keen at the weight of Draco‘s body on top of him. Somewhere his heart had leapt, though he was too busy getting it on with Harry Potter to really notice how much.

Harry had uttered some unintelligible mumblings, a combination of curse words and yes's. Draco would have been happy to come off just like this, frotting his way to orgasm both still in their clothes like the teenage boys they had once been, and it would have happened sooner than Draco cared to admit when Harry spoke.

"I want to see it," He'd whispered and Draco had felt his cheeks flush red hot. Meeting Harry's eye the entire time, he'd knelt back on his heels, slipping the band of pajamas over his hips. The morning sun, by that point shining bright through the windows, had done nothing to hide Draco's body. Not that he'd wanted to hide. He stroked himself several times, his breath hitching as he did. He couldn't remember a time he was so turned on.

"Jesus," Harry had breathed, as he‘d settled back against the pillows, perfecting his view. He'd swallowed several times, his eyes wider than the moon. But Draco had been unable to stand it a minute longer and with an almost feral growl, had begun kissing his way down Harry's chest, reaching for the zipper on Harry's trousers. He'd needed to taste him like he needed to breath.

"Stop," Harry had said firmly, grabbing Draco's wrists and his heart had sunk instantly. It had clearly been too fast, too far. He'd looked at Harry, prepared to utter a million apologies when instead, Harry had undone his pants and rolled over.

It had been so unexpected that Draco had had to stare at the curve of Harry's arse for several seconds before he'd fully understood what was happening. He'd pressed at Harry's shoulder, turning him back over.

"We don't have to do that, Har. There's so much more to do, I promise..." He'd smirked. "You have no idea what this mouth is capable of." Draco had bent his head again, kissing his way towards Harry's navel when Harry had stopped him once more. And it had been the look in Harry's eyes this time that had truly given Draco pause.

"She," He'd said but then bit the word. "Any girl can do those things. Any girl can do that." He'd looked pointedly at his cock then back up at Draco. "But only you can do this." As Draco had shook his head uncertainly, his brow narrowing, Harry had brushed his knuckles across his face. "Please. I need to know. I need you to do it."

"And I need you do want it," Draco had replied, sitting back on his heels, his brow cross. "I'm not going to...make love to you if this is still just some experiment."

Harry had knelt forward, brining them chest to chest. He'd captured Draco's face in both his hands. "I don't know what this is," he'd whispered and Draco had known he was speaking the truth. Harry's eyes had scattered across Draco's face, a long, almost loving perusal of all Draco's features, coming back to meet his gaze as he spoke again. "But right now, at this very moment, there is nothing else in the world I want more than to feel you inside me."

Draco had whimpered pathetically, his bones going to liquid. He'd let his head drop back, the weight of it falling into Harry's hands as Harry's lips grazed up the side of his neck, catching his lips as he pulled him down on top of him.

They'd joined together as equals, not as one with all the experience and one who still questioned. Harry's body had moved and responded to each of Draco's advances, his body tenuous and beautiful under his exploring fingers. With every kiss, every sigh, every thrust into unseen places Draco had brimmed with amazement and with love.

Much as he does now. Harry is hard. For him. Again. It is almost impossible to believe. "I'm so turned on right now," Draco says, pressing his forehead against Harry's in an attempt to cool his heels for a moment. "Are you sore at all?"

He'd been as gentle as possible, and Merlin knows he hadn't lasted as long as usual, but the first time is the first and he knows what kind of pain can settle in.

"A bit, yeah."

"I have salve for that. Remind me to give you some." Draco kisses him deeply and smiles. "But not right now. I promised to show you how much more we can do, didn't I?"

Draco straddles his hips and gives himself a moment to truly admire the man before him. Harry's body is flat and muscled in all the right places, lithe and trim. His skin pale and smooth.

"You're gorgeous," he whispers, as Harry's stomach contracts beneath his fingers. Harry's cock is equally gorgeous where it rests on his abdomen and Draco's cock jumps at the sight. He notices Harry starring, his eyes glazed with desire. "You can touch me too, you know."

"I know...I just..."

"Do it, Harry."

With a determined look, Harry trails his hand over Draco's hip, through the crease of his thigh and circles his thumb around the base of Draco's cock. He slips the palm of his hand up towards the head.

"You're a natural," Draco gasps.

"I have had a bit of practice with this," says Harry, cheekily.

"But it's different isn't it?" Draco says, breathing heavy. "A familiar action and yet so different because it isn't you you're touching." Draco rocks his hips in time with Harry's strokes. Harry watches, enrapt, his lower lip caught in his teeth. "Now, twist at the top." Draco orders and Harry obeys. "Oh, fuck, that's good." Draco whines. He runs his hands across his chest, putting on a pretty show.

"I could make you come like this, couldn't I?" Harry asks completely breathless.

"Just like this," Draco replies. "But I don't want you to. Give me your hand."

Harry seems loathe to stop touching Draco, but eventually he does. Draco places Harry's hand to his own cock to relieve some of the tension.

"Take care of yourself for a minute," Draco whispers. Harry, clearly mad with need, groans throatily with thanks. After giving Harry the satisfaction of a few leisurely strokes and allowing himself the immense pleasure of watching Harry Potter wank in front of him, he stills Harry's hand with a soft touch to his wrist, carefully prying open each of Harry's fingers and pressing his cock into Harry's fist along with his own.

Harry seems hardly able to stand it. He throws his head back and squeezes his eyes tight shut. Draco leans over him, whispering hot words against his ear.

"Feels good, doesn't it? You and me, hard for each other? Who needs a soft pussy when you have two hard cocks rubbing against each other?"

Harry moans, high and long.

"You have no idea how many times I've imagined what it would be like to be with you. How your body would feel. What noises you'd make. The look on your face as you come. It's better than I could have ever dreamed. Don't stop, Harry. Keep going. Bring us off."

As if on cue, Draco feels his orgasm winding up deep within his body. Harry pants as if he is running a marathon. "I'm coming," he says, then repeats it again with greater urgency, "I'm coming!"

Draco's body burns from the built up pressure before a tidal wave of pleasure powers through him crashing against the shore just as Harry comes too.

And for the second time that day, they collapse back onto his bed in a beautiful, messy pile of sweat and quivering limbs.

*

Draco excuses himself shortly there after to take a shower. He pauses to look in the mirror. His hair is a mess and his cheeks and chest are flushed but there is a giddy smile on his face that just won't go away. He takes the time to shave and moisturize after, the sun shining through the narrow window makes his hair glow golden blond.

He's never felt like this after a night, or in this case a morning, spent with a man. He's had plenty of paramours, but between the lingering prejudice he'd faced in his early twenties and his commitment to his career in his mid-twenties, he finds himself in his late twenties never really having been in a serious relationship. Or this completely head over heels. He brushes his teeth, giving himself his most dashing smile in the mirror when he finishes.

"Someone's looking quite pleased with themselves this morning," the mirror's crystalline voice chimes. And Draco smiles again. Pleased indeed.

Harry is still lying in bed where Draco had left him when he emerges from the bathroom. One hand is flung over his head while his other scratches through the small patch of hair between his pecs. His eyes are fixed, unseeing, on the ceiling. Draco knows this look. It's the Holy- fuck-I-just-had-sex-with-a-man look. He's worn it before himself, all those years ago.

Draco sits carefully on the edge of the bed. "Here's that salve I was telling you about," Draco says. Harry looks at him only long enough to take the tube from him and mumble a half-hearted thanks. "You'll want to shower first so the bathroom is yours if you want it."

Harry doesn't budge.

"Look," Draco places his hand on Harry's wrist. "I've been where you are. After your first time with a man, it can be completely overwhelming..."

Harry's eyes dart to Draco's, his jaw clenched. "Overwhelming," he snarls, "Does not even begin to cover it." He rips the sheets off and throws himself out of bed. He gathers up his clothes hurriedly from where they still lay on the floor, snapping on his pants and shoving his undershirt on roughly over his mussed hair.

Draco feels suddenly cold, his happiness slipping away by the second. "Harry..." he tries to start again but once more Harry interrupts him.

"I was supposed to get married in six months. Married, Draco." He rakes his fingers hard through his hair. "To the woman I have been in love with since I was 16. And now we just..." He gestures meekly at Draco's bed, looking almost sick. "I gotta go."

"Harry, listen to me," Draco moves around the bed, grabbing Harry by the wrist so he can't get away too soon. "I know you're confused but I'm here, alright? For whatever you need." He opens his arms wide, offering himself up. "Talk, getting drunk, a relationship, an occasional fuck, I don't care. Use me for whatever you need, even if it is just to get over Ginny."

Harry pulls away, looking offended on Draco's behalf.

"I love you." Draco continues softly. "I'll take from you whatever you'll give me."

"You deserve better than that," Harry says resolutely. He shakes out his shirt, giving himself a moment to calm down. "And right now, I'm not the person to give that to you. I'm still hurting the way things ended with Ginny and after this...I shouldn't have come here."

"No." Draco is the one to interrupt now. "I think it's good you did. I think this," he gestures between them. "It needed to happen."

Harry looks at him a long time. "Does this mean I'm bi now? Or gay?"

"Well," Draco arches one brow higher. "I think we can scratch completely straight off the list."

Harry almost smiles but his shoulders do relax a bit. "I just need some time, Draco. Some time to sort out my own head."

Draco nods and settles back on the bed to watch in silence as Harry finishes getting dressed.

"You'll be at the Hogwarts Ball right?" Harry asks from where he kneels to tie his shoes.

"Couldn't miss it if I tried."

"I'll see you there, alright?" He stands and puts the slave in his trouser pocket. "But until then, I think it's better if we don‘t talk."

Draco wants to protest, not understanding how that would make any of what Harry is going through any easier. But in the end he just shrugs and says, "Alright."

Harry turns to walk out of the bedroom when Draco remembers something.

"Wait," he says and hurries quickly to his closet. "You forgot this last night." He emerges from his closet with the cloak he'd given Harry just the night before slung over his arms. "I noticed the puffy monstrosity remained at home this morning and it's supposed to be wretchedly cold today."

Harry reaches for it, then hesitates. "You're sure you want me to take it still?"

"It was a gift, given in friendship and love," Draco says, undoing the clasp at the collar and holding it open for Harry to put on. "No matter what happens next, the motivation was true at the time."

Harry steps into the cloak, sliding his arms into the sleeves. The fit is perfect, as Draco knew it would be. He can't help but slide his hands across Harry's broad shoulders, inhaling deeply and taking in lungs full of his smell. Harry looks at him over his shoulder.

He places a hand on Draco's freshly shaved face, his thumb sweeping over the smooth skin. "I don't regret this," he whispers. "Not one bit of it."

Draco's eyes flutter closed, his lips pressed into a hard line. He nods, not realizing how much he needed to hear those words until he had heard them. Harry kisses him softly on the cheek.

"G'bye, Draco." He says then slips out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

In his corner office at The Daily Prophet all of Draco's staff writers from the Society and Leisure department, his head writers, his Assistant Editor and his secretary stare openly at him from where they are crammed on couches or perched on the edge of desks to where he sits, comfortably, behind his massive desk.  
  
Draco has just told them about the Golden Couple's break-up and they have a look upon their face that is far too similar to a pack of wild dogs salivating over a steak. (Except for his secretary, Nerise, who is so busy filing her magenta nails, he's not even sure she is taking notes.) It is this predatory, unrelenting need to report the next big story that Draco values so much in them on a day to day basis and that has made the Prophet a legitimate news source under his leadership, but he is not about to let these head-line crazed vultures anywhere near Harry. The story of Ginny's infidelity and the demise of their relationship needs to be handled just right, with all the respect Harry deserves and with enough subtly so not to create a complete public uproar.  
  
And Draco might have a few of his own selfish reasons for wanting the article to be done just so. Which is why, when he knows he has their appetites most piqued, their fingers itching to pick up their quills, he tells them, "I will be breaking the story and handling any and all follow up articles."  
  
The entire group erupts en mass into disapproval. Draco halts them with his hand. "This is not up for discussion."  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, please" Ella, the young, extremely talented staff writer pipes up. Draco sees much of himself in her so gives her a nod, letting her know he's listening. "With all due respect, sir, do you really have the time? With all your other responsibilities, will you be able to devote the time necessary to a story of this magnitude?" She stares at him with her wide, ice-blue eyes.  
  
"I'll make the time," He says definitively.  
  
"Draco." His name, spoken so calmly it is like a salve, comes from his Assistant Editor, Allan. He trusts this man with his life. He is scrupulous and impeccable with all things, but especially with their paper. In fact, if he weren't happily married with two children and nearly 20 years Draco's senior, he'd probably be completely smitten with the man. "Are you sure you're really the best person to write this?"  
  
"Are you doubting my ability to write an article for my own fucking paper, Allan?"  
  
"Of course not," Allan assuages. Did Draco mention he can handle his temper too? "It's only," He glances quickly at the writer sitting next to him who gives him an encouraging look. "We all know how good friends you are with Harry..."  
  
 _And so much more_ , Draco thinks. He can feel the ghost of Harry's lips against his ear and his thighs around his waist.  
  
"All the more reason for me to do it," he says. Draco pushes back from his desk and stands, placing his palms on his desk. "You all have your assignments for the week. This is my paper. I know what I'm doing."  
  
Draco turns to the window as his staff file out, grumbling and whispering as they go. Being the boss doesn't always make you popular but Draco knew that when he took the job. And besides, he's used to not being the most liked man in town.  
  
He's submerged himself in work to hide away from the ache of missing Harry. It seems every second he isn’t working, he is thinking of him. Ergo, he hasn't stopped working. The memories of their time together are tangible, like those from a pensieve, so life-like it feels like he is reliving them. He can remember how Harry's skin had felt and his lips had tasted as if it were still happening even now. He can feel Harry’s vulnerability and his complete and utter trust in Draco. But the memories of Harry leaving are the most palpable. He feels that disappointment on his body like a bruise. But then, could he really have expected any other outcome? There is a reason why he’s never let himself feel this way about Harry before: there can be no happy ending where he and Draco are concerned.  
  
"Knock, knock."  
  
"Nerise, I didn't..." Draco turns towards the door. "Oh, Pansy. Thank god." Draco collapses into his chair, covering his eyes with his fingers. Then as if almost forgetting that he'd been waiting to talk to her for nearly a week, he sits up and glares at her. "Where the hell have you been?"  
  
"I got back from Verbier this morning. Blaise and I went skiing." She says loftily as she slides into the chair Allan had just left. "And don't give me that look," She continues before even seeing Draco's raised brow. "I was sick of family time and so was he. You know he's not my type." She sets her purse on her lap, her red leather gloves clutching the handle. "Your message was waiting for me when I got home. As were the other six you sent. There was owl shit all over my bedroom window, I’ll have you know.”  
  
Draco sits back, thoroughly chastened. He'd written her minutes after Harry had left, telling her everything in the message then spelled it so the text could only be revealed to her. Then when he hadn‘t heard from her, he‘d written again. And again.  
  
“I can't say I quite believe it."  
  
"Some days I can't really believe it either."  
  
"You and Potter? Really?"  
  
"Keep your voice down," he hisses as he flicks his wand, closing the door all the way and drawing the shades across the wide window that looks out on the news room. "He came to me early on Boxing Day and we..."  
  
"Fucked," Pansy finishes, looking far to prim in her tailored robes and perfectly donned beret for such lewd words but Draco cannot deny it. "Well, did he... _enjoy_  himself?"  
  
Draco gapes at her. "I am not telling you that!" He says mortified.  
  
"So he didn't."  
  
"No, of course he did! I am a fabulous lay and you know it."  
  
"True," She says, wistfully, a look on her face that makes Draco uncomfortable.  
  
"I shouldn't be talking about it,” He says. “Especially not here"  
  
"Well, then where can we go," Pansy says standing, "because I simply must get all the dish on this." Her words melt into a giddy grin and she giggles mercilessly. Draco gives her a reproachful look and she sits back down.  
  
"It was amazing, Pans," Draco says eventually. "Never in a million years could I have imagined it being better than it actually was. He was so unafraid." He allows himself one moment of recollection and laughs softly. "He was so  _him_."  
  
Pansy smiles softly, a genuine look of happiness for him. Draco snaps himself out of his reverie.  
  
"I sound like a girl," He complains. "I sound like a bloody, Hufflepuff girl."  
  
"You're just not used to being so love struck. It's cute."  
  
"Oh, shut up."  
  
Pansy grins again. "So after he left that morning, you haven't heard from him?"  
  
"I haven't expected to. He said he'd see me at the Ball tomorrow night. That he needed time to think."  
  
Pansy nods thoughtfully. "I don't know whether to be happy for you or not, love."  
  
"Me neither."  
  
Pansy reaches across the table and clasps his hand. Draco covers her hand with his, stroking at the soft leather for a moment.  
  
"I've got to get back to work,” He says eventually, still playing with the small button secured at her wrist. “I've a rather important article to write."  
  
"You're writing again?"  
  
"Just this once." He smiles wanly at her and she stands.  
  
"I'm wearing the gold gown tomorrow, you know the one. It would best for you to wear your black tux. No tails."  
  
Draco nods. "Of course."  
  
She flits her way over to the door, peeking her head around it as she is almost out. "But in all seriousness," she begins and Draco looks up, preparing himself for a moment of friendly empathy or advice. "How big was his cock?"  
  
"Out!" Draco shouts and slams the door shut so hard with another flick of his wrist that Pansy is lucky she doesn't lose a finger.  
  
*  
  
It's well after business hours by the time Draco has time to sit and write. The news room is dark through the slatted shades of his office. Only the soft security lamps burn overhead.  
  
Unlike much of his staff who have started using typewriters or even muggle computers to do their writing, Draco still prefers the patient process of quill and ink. It makes you take your time. Forces you to chose words carefully.  
  
But right now, it is not the problem of the  _right_ word that Draco is facing, but  _any_ word. He has no idea how to begin.  
  
He sits at his desk, fills his quill and starts.  
  
 _In yet another chapter of the sometimes triumphant, often tragic life of Harry Potter, his engagement to Ginerva Weasley has come to an..._  
  
“Ugh....no.” Draco says, waving his wand across the top of the parchment and spelling away the ink.  
  
 _On the night of December 18, 2008 the relationship of Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley came to an abrupt end after the afore mentioned Weasley was found en flagrante with a certain Justin Finch-Fetchley at the couple's home in London..._  
  
He crumples the page up, tossing it into the bin. “This is Harry,” he says, running his hands across his face, “Not some random story...”  
  
And then as if his muscles have remembered how, the words come. Fresh and true and right. He writes nonstop, his quill scratching franticly across the page. After what feels like a matter of minutes, but is closer to an hour, Draco puts down the quill and sits back in his seat, stretching his hands over head and cracking his back. He re-reads what he has written and realizes this bit of writing is better suited for the editorial page. After all, Harry’s love life doesn’t need to be front page news. Not any more.  
  
He checks the clock. 11:35. He has just enough time to get this into tomorrow’s paper. The type-setter will be furious with the last minute change, but fuck all, he’s the Editor in Chief and what he says, goes.  
  
He taps the page and his careful cursive is changed to standard newsprint font. He quickly adds a title and a by-line. But before he rolls up the parchment and sends it down to the basement with a flying charm, he runs his wand across the page, copying every word and transfers it to another piece of parchment. At the top of the page he writes:  
  
             _I know you didn’t want to hear from me this week but I thought you might want to see what I’ll be_  
            printing in the morning news.  
                                                                                                                            Yours always, DLM  
  
*

_THE RIGHT TO LOVE_

_by Draco L. Malfoy, Editor-in-Chief, The Daily Prophet_  
  
          We all know that true love cannot be bought. It cannot be coerced or convinced to be felt in earnest. True   
          love cannot be faked or pretended. It cannot be spelled or charmed into existence. There are potions that mock   
          love but none that can make it true. It cannot be conjured or transformed but it can, far too swiftly, be destroyed.  
  
          There are only so many ways to ruin true love forever, because in the end, love is patient and it is kind and it   
          forgives all things and trusts all things. But if one wishes to truly ruin all that love can be, to end it with no hope  
          for renewal, one must simply break the promise of love, which is that it can only belong to one, and be unfaithful.  
  
          We have all watched as Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley have become the paragon of what true love can be.   
          Young love that overcame time and torment to become life long love. A love with the promise of a future together.   
          We all celebrated their pending nuptials and wished them health and happiness in all things.  
  
          But no more.  
  
          It has come forth, in recent days, that their love has been destroyed in the truest sense. Sources close to Harry   
          Potter know that Miss Weasley has in fact been having an affair with fellow Hogwarts graduate and Quidditch   
          coach, Justin Finch-Fletchly for the duration of approximately four months. Those same sources know that the   
          wedding has been officially cancelled and that Miss Weasley will be moving out of their London residence after   
          the holidays.  
  
          Mr. Potter is, of course, devastated. But sources report that even in his grief he has been able to look forward.   
          Mr. Potter is one of those rare men who believe in the power of love. In fact he has risked his very life on that belief.  
          Even in the face of this heartbreak, he holds fast to his faith that in the end, love will conquer all.  
  
          Mr. Potter knows, and this writer cannot help to agree, that while love can be destroyed in an instant of poor  
          judgment, it can also be fostered from nothing, Grown, even, out of hate. It can be earned and deserved. It   
          can blossom in the most unlikely of places and bloom.  
  
          It is this writer’s hope, as it should be of all who value Mr. Potter‘s sacrifices on behalf of our kind, that some   
          day, that he find someone deserving of that unique, steadfast love to which he is so readily capable.


	5. Chapter 5

It is 11:26 pm on December 31st and Hogwarts is sparkling. Every dull stone of the castle is charmed to be just as luminous and effervescent as the champagne that the guests drink in abundance. Garlands of large white flowers, with small twinkling lights nestled in them, ring the entire circumference of the Great Hall. The band plays classics to keep the attendees dancing and the mood celebratory. Draco and Pansy had arrived shortly after 10, looking every bit the dashing couple. She looks lovely in her golden gown and upswept hair and Draco is as handsome as a man can be with his well-tailored jacket, his bowtie tied into an expert knot and his hair slicked to the side with debonair flair.

He’d smiled and made pleasantries with all the right people, danced a few songs with Pansy, pecked at the canapés that were being passed on gilded treys and watched those blasted double doors every other second, waiting for Harry to walk through them.

But now with the hour so late and his heart feeling like it has been gnawed on by a Norwegian Ridegeback, he knows it is time to go.

He’d not slept the night before, hoping for yet another holiday miracle that would bring Harry Potter to his door once more. He’d thought sending the article would be enough, that Harry would be able to read between the lines and see what Draco was saying. Perhaps he’d put too much faith in the man. Perhaps he’d put too much faith in how much their time together had meant to Harry. He certainly knows how much it had meant to him.

Too bloody much.

“Just stay, sweetheart,” Pansy says, as she follows him out of the Great Hall, the silk organza of her dress rustling as she tries to keep up with Draco‘s hasty strides. Her cheeks are rosy from imbibing her own fair share of champagne and the blithe smile plastered on her face seems stuck there regardless of her date‘s bleak mood. “It’s nearly midnight. Why come to a New Year‘s party if you don‘t stay until the New Year?”

“I know,” Draco says, pinching the arch of his nose. “I’m a wretched date. But I’m exhausted.” He looks around imagining what this night could have been if only Harry had been man enough to show. “I just can’t stomach being here a minute longer.”

“But who will I kiss?” She says, breathless, reaching out her hand for him.

He takes her hand in both of his, kissing her knuckles gently then presses her palm against his chest. “I love you, Pans, you know I do.” Her smile deepens. “But you’re really not the person I want to kiss tonight.” He begins to back away, slowing letting go of her hand as he does. “I’ll floo you tomorrow, alright?”

She nods, watching his retreat with a pained expression. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” She calls when he is halfway across the entrance hall. He turns, blowing her a quick kiss before a group of recent arrivals block her from his view.

He’s the only one in line at the cloak check. Who else would be leaving a New Years Eve party just minutes before the night’s culmination? He has to ring the small golden bell on the counter for the house elf to appear and after several minutes of unnecessary apologies on the house elf’s behalf for making Draco wait, the small creature finally takes his check tag and pops out of sight to get Draco’s things.

“Not leaving are you?”

That nonchalant tone could be from one and no other but Draco can‘t help the stiff glance over his shoulder just to make sure.

“As a matter of fact I am,” He says, sternly.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Harry says, his cheerfulness cutting through Draco‘s animosity. “Almost midnight, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Potter, it bloody is almost midnight.” Draco rounds on him ready to lash out at him for his offensive tardiness but is completely taken aback by how handsome Harry looks. He’s wearing the cloak Draco gave him and this fact alone is enough to make Draco’s heart stutter. Underneath is a crisp white collared shirt and the elegant line of a long silver tie completes the look. His hair is shiny and smooth. His glasses gone, something he’s done once or twice before for special occasions, letting his green eyes glint all the brighter in the soft mood lighting of the party. He smirks at Draco, like he knows what his appearance is doing to him, the smug bastard.

“You didn’t think I was coming, did you?”

“Why should I care?” Draco says turning back as the elf returns with his things.

“Draco,” Harry pleads as Draco makes a grand show of wrapping his scarf around his neck, giving it a dramatic whip at the end. “Don’t be like this,” Harry continues. “I meant to be here earlier, but we had a break through in that potions smuggling case yesterday and were finally able to crack down on the supplier this morning.”

Draco turns around. “Did you really?” He curses himself for the admiration in his voice. The Prophet had been covering that story for months and it seemed an outcome would never be reached. “I thought you said Dark Wizards take the holidays off.”

“They do,” Harry grins. “That’s how we got him.”

They stand awkwardly for a moment. Draco runs his fingers across the fur at the brim of his hat while Harry appears to be examining his shoes.

“Will you walk with me?” Harry asks finally.

“I’ve only just gotten my things...”

“Outside then.” He takes a step forward, clasping Draco’s bicep with his still gloved hand. “Please, Draco.”

Draco nods and wordlessly, they go through the front doors and out into the night.

*

The stars are bright in the crystal clear sky, leaving the air breath-stealing cold. The snow crunches beneath their feet and the bass line of the band’s current tune can barely be heard through the castle walls. They walk in slow silence, the weight of what needs to be said hanging in the air just like their breath. Just as Draco’s nose begins to feel like an ice cube and his cheeks go numb, Harry sweeps his arms in a wide arc casting a warming charm and cocooning them a soft bubble of warmth. Harry undoes the clasp of his cloak and Draco removes his hat and gloves.

“Thank you for sending me the article,” Harry says eventually.

“Even though it broke our week long vow of silence?”

Harry smiles to himself, his lashes brushing against his cheeks. “Even so. It was beautifully written. I‘d forgotten what a talented writer you are.” Draco smiles his thanks then turns his eyes skyward as they walk a few more paces in silence.

“It’s quite the inside source you had. He seemed to know all the gory details about the situation,” Harry says wryly.

“My sources are always very reliable. Of course, I can’t reveal who it is,” Draco says with feigned gravitas.

“Oh, of course not. Sources like that must be protected.” They share a conspiratorial grin. “I have to say, it wasn’t the slanderous expose defiling Ginny’s name forever that you’d led me to expect.”

“Yes, well.” Draco clears his throat. “In the end I decided you wouldn’t want that for her.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“It’s so like you, Harry, to show kindness to those you should hate.” Draco chances a small glance and their eyes meet. He shrugs. “I should know.”

“Don’t put me on any pedestals, Draco. Though I wonder if you’ve already done that. I don‘t know if I‘m half as deserving as you made me out to be,” Harry says softly.

“If you‘re not deserving of a happy ever after, I don‘t know who is,” Draco says equally soft and another shy smile flits across Harry‘s lips.

Silence falls again as they walk through a patch of moonlight. Their shoulders brush seconds before Draco feels Harry’s fingers, warm and strong, slide between his, their palms flush against each other. Draco tries not to break his stride, but is blown away by the simple touch. It’s intent is so clear. Friends do not hold hands as they walk together on a snowy night. Boyfriends do that. Lovers. Partners.

“I’m sorry, I can’t...I can’t do this.” Draco says, taking his hand back and turning to Harry. He rubs at his forehead with his forefingers. “I fell for you because you’re handsome and kind and a good man, too good for me but I knew that getting into it. And I knew anything between us was hopeless. It sucked but I’d get over it eventually. But then I told you and instead of never wanting to speak to me again you came to me and we... we shared something.” A glimmer of agreement flashes across Harry’s face which only serves to confuse Draco even more. “And now you’re here holding my hand and I just...I can’t stand here while you play at being gay or whatever the hell it is you’re doing.”

“I’m not playing.” The steadiness of Harry’s voice is Draco’s tipping point.

“You’re straight, Harry! You were in love with Ginny Weasley and planning on getting married less than two weeks ago! That just doesn‘t go away!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Harry shouts. “What do you think I’ve spent the last fucking week thinking about?”

“Ginny,” Draco sneers, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking away.

“No, you idiot! You!”

Draco’s eyes crash into Harry’s, lock and hold. They are as unguarded as they had been that morning in his bed, only this time there is steely determination behind them too. Harry takes a deep breath and steps close to Draco, running his hands across Draco’s shoulders.

“All I’ve done this week is think,” Harry says, his speech slow and deliberate. “I thought about how much Ginny hurt me and how honored I am that you feel the way you do about me and how it makes absolutely no sense what I feel for you. But, I’m done with all of that. I’m done thinking about Ginny because she doesn’t deserve another moment of my time. And honestly, I don’t want to think about you anymore either.” Draco huffs and tries to remove himself from Harry’s grip but he just holds on all the harder. “I don’t want to think. I just want to feel.”

Harry kisses him, fierce and reckless. He fists his hands in Draco’s hair, pulling him deeper and deeper, as if he just can’t get enough. Draco can’t remember a time a man has overwhelmed him so completely with his lips, consumed him with his breath. Its suddenness knocks him backwards and he grabs Harry’s elbows for leverage.

“Harry,” he gasps, panting into the small space between them.

“Draco, I don’t know if I’m gay. I don’t know if that even matters because when you kissed me that morning, I liked it. And when you touched me it felt good.” He holds Draco’s face between his hands, pressing his forehead to Draco’s, his voice little more than a whisper. “And when I lay there, in your bed watching you sleep, it felt right. That was no game.”

Draco stifles a whimper, shuffling an inch closer to Harry to clench his fingers in his cloak. In the castle, Draco is faintly aware of the countdown to midnight beginning.

“I’m not saying this is going to be easy. I’m not saying I understand it anymore than you do. It’ll be messy and complicated but...you are deserving of... wait, what did you call it? The steadfast love to which I am so readily capable?” He asks, quoting Draco’s own words.

Draco groans. “Oh God, did I really say that?”

“Yep.” Harry smiles. “But I like to think it‘s not just me who is deserving. We both are. So if you’re willing to try...”

“Yes,” Draco gulps. “Very willing.”

Harry smiles so wide that it outshines the fireworks that explode over their heads welcoming in the New Year and illuminating the sky in reds, blues and greens. They kiss again, a soft promise of things to come. A gentler transition from friends to something more than they had given themselves the first time.

“Well, Mr. Malfoy,” Harry says as they make their way towards Hogsmeade and the closest apparition point. Harry’s place or his, Draco doesn‘t care, as long as they get their soon. “Seems to me like you’ve got a pretty good headline for January 1st.”

Draco gives him a perplexed look.

“Oh, come on,” Harry says, affronted. “You and me? We’re not front page news?”

Draco laughs, his head falling back. “Yes, perhaps we are.”

“After all,” Harry says, flinging his arm across Draco’s shoulders. “Readers have a right to know and I want to shout it from the bloody rooftops.”

Draco slips his arm around Harry’s waist and they fall into step together. In the distance the revelers sing Auld Lang Syne. “Happy new year, Harry.” He says, pulling him tight to his side.

Harry gives him a sidelong smile. “Happy new year.”

And Draco is certain it will be.


End file.
